


mine to give (yours to keep)

by phylocalist



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (aka viktor/chris/yuuri), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Background polyamorous relationship, Brave (Disney) Inspired, Knight Otabek Altin, M/M, Sparring as Form of Flirting, Strangers to Rivals to Fianceés, shapeshifter yuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25273798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phylocalist/pseuds/phylocalist
Summary: The most dreaded day of the fae shapeshifter Crown Prince Yuri’s life has come: the day his coming-of-age ceremony will be held and a dozen strangers will fight for the right to marry him.Yuri has plans, but they get stumped by one persistent suitor: a human Knight from an unknown kingdom. Whoisthis Otabek of Altinim and how does a lowly human keep getting in the way of Yuri’s plan?
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 5
Kudos: 82
Collections: Majesties: The Yuri!!! on Ice Royalty Zine





	mine to give (yours to keep)

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so happy to finally be able to release this fic onto the wild! it's almost a year old but i still love it to bits and it holds a very special place in my heart.
> 
> thank you so much to all of the mods of the [royalty zine](https://yoiroyaltyzine.tumblr.com/). <3 it was a wonderful experience as always and you all did your very best, even when we were hit with these uncertain and unexpected new circumstances. thank you for all your hard work!!
> 
> also thanks to [zhady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhadyra) for betaing this fic!!

If there was a day that Yuri ever dreaded, it would be this one.

Time was a fickle concept for elves. Due to their long lifespans, their perception of time could be completely different from one second to the other, because they never cared to pay much attention to it in the first place. At times, waiting five minutes could feel like an eternity; at others, ten years could pass by in the blink of an eye.

Yet, in every elf’s life, there was a single day that would be of monumental importance: their coming-of-age celebration. Even more so for elven royalty, as the coming-of-age celebration of an elven of royal descent marked a newly acquired status, one that was particularly sought after by many people across all realms: fae, human, demonic and otherwise.

“You’ll finally be able to get married!” Viktor had explained to him once, Yuri sitting on his lap while Viktor occupied the royal throne. He had sounded cheery then, but to Yuri he always sounded cheery.

Yuri had grimaced. “And what if I _don’t_ want to get married?”

“Never?!” Viktor had asked, scandalized, like it was the most incredulous thing he’d ever heard in his entire life—and _he_ was in a relationship with a human _and_ another elf.

“Never!” Yuri had grunted, shaking his head with all the confidence of an arrogant, childish prince.

It has been many seasons since then—Yuri had watched them go by like petals scattering in the wind, all so strangely short-lived yet beautiful in their fragility—and his opinion had remained the same.

As he pulls the arrow in the bow, the cord so tight against the fletching it almost vibrates in his fingers, he thinks: _Never. Nobody is going to ever win my hand if I can do anything about it._

The arrow zooms through the air at a velocity that might seem impossible to anyone looking at it, and it pierces an apple hanging from one of the trees in the orchard directly through the center. Yuri swiftly shifts into a jaguar and quickly makes his way towards the pierced apple, unshifting and curling his fingers around it as soon as he’s underneath it. He pulls it from the tree in one aggressive pull and bites into it, unbothered by the arrow still piercing its heart.

 _If anybody is going to decide my fate_ , he thinks as he examines the apple against the sun, the preciously decorated fletching shining in the light, _it will be me._

*

Royal Elven coming-of-age ceremonies can be as lavish and last as long as the one being celebrated wants it to—point in case being former Crown Prince Viktor of Fae, whose coming-of-age celebration was not only the most expensive to date, but had also lasted almost two fortnights—but Yuri has always been adamant in holding only the required week-long courting championship, consequent festivities and nothing more.

The preparations for the coming-of-age festivities are tedious and boring, as elven traditions tend to be. Yuri has spent most of them grumbling at every turn, ready at any second to bolt through any opening in the security, but Chris had seen through his plans from the beginning and adjusted security to make sure he had no openings to flee at any moment.

Yet, all the time Yuri doesn’t spend preparing for his coming-of-age, he is found at the one place in the whole of Fae he also deems tedious and boring: the Royal Library.

Yuuri catches him once as he’s leaving. He stops dead in his tracks when he sees Yuri sitting on the floor of the library, thick, old tomes sprawled all around him, open in various pages. “Yurio?” It comes out without even meaning to, the surprise overwhelming him.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Yuri replies, almost mechanically, the same way he replies every time anyone calls him by the nickname Yuuri’s sister had given him the day Yuuri had married into Fae. He only looks up from the book he’s reading when Yuuri stays quiet for a beat too long. “What?” He snarls.

“What… are you doing?” Yuuri asks, cautious, like he’s approaching a feral cat without trying to scare it away.

“None of your fucking bussiness,” Yuri replies and turns back to the books without so much as another glance towards Yuuri.

Knowing there’s no getting answers out of Yuri when he doesn’t want to give them, Yuuri turns back towards the door and keeps walking. He’s sure he’ll find out soon enough what it is that Yuri is planning.

*

The cheering in the Arena is so loud that Yuri can hear it even from almost four rooms away, where he’s been tucked in for hours, letting all of the servants and a couple of his friends cover him in ceremonial regalia.

Royal Advisors Mila and Sara are there, the most recent newlyweds in Fae, though Mila keeps insisting on reminding Yuri that they won’t be so for much longer.

“Aren’t you at least a little bit excited?” Mila asks as she fixes the jeweled wreath circling Yuri’s head for the upteenth time. “You get to marry the handsomest, strongest boy! They fight to the death for you!”

Yuri groans. “They don’t fight to the _death_ , Mila. That barbaric custom went out of style over two thousand years ago.” He rolls his eyes and then searches for Mila’s, suddenly serious. “And you know no one out there actually wants to marry _me_. They want to marry the Crown Prince of Fae, not _Yuri_.”

“You know that’s not—” Mila starts, but quickly cuts her sentence short when Yuri shoots her a glare that clearly spells out death. His ceremonial bow lays on the counter next to him and, while lavishly jeweled to match the rest of his ceremonial outfit, is just as deadly in Yuri’s hands as any other. She lets out a sigh and lowers her hands to fiddle with the collar of his cape instead. “Maybe he’ll like you, though.”

“Not even my _friends_ like me, Mila,” Yuri retorts, and bats at Mila’s hands before she can say anything back. “That’s enough. The championship is about to begin and Yakov will kill me if I don’t show up.”

Without giving Mila time to get anything else in, Yuri turns and grabs his ceremonial bow off of the vanity, slings it over one shoulder and marches out, towards the Arena.

*

“We appreciate everyone’s attendance and enthusiasm. Everyone in the Fae Court shares it, as we couldn’t be happier to be seeing off our youngest and only-in-line Crown Prince,” Yuri hears Yakov’s voice magically amplified as he stops right before the Arena balcony’s double doors. He takes a deep breath in, steeling himself. He can’t chicken out now. “Please welcome our guest of honor, Yuri of Fae!”

The doors to the Arena’s balcony are thrown open, the harsh sunlight blinding him for a few seconds. He flinches minutely but quickly composes himself, walking towards the throne at the center of the crowd gathered in the balcony, the one place no one else is allowed to sit at. Elven custom dictates that the Courting Championship may not begin until the courted party sits at the throne in the balcony, from wherein they will oversee the whole Championship, so Yuri carefully billows his cape out and sits down at the throne, his skin humming with anticipation.

Magical fireworks start going off as the crowd explodes in a roar of applause and cheers. Yakov’s voice booms out again: “Let the Championship begin!”

Yuri lets the roar go on for one, two seconds, savors the moment just before everything breaks. And then, with a devilish grin on his face, he stands up from the throne and nimbly climbs down the balcony into the Arena.

Yakov’s red, furious face that screams “ _What do you think you’re doing?!_ ” is almost enough to make all the hours spent in the library doing research worth it, but Yuri’s not quite done yet. Magically amplifying his voice to be heard over the confused murmurs the crowd has turned into, Yuri speaks towards the Royal Balcony he just climbed off of.

“In all of the manuals detailing the Royal Courting Championship,” he starts, unbuttoning his ceremonial cape and carelessly dropping it to the sand-covered floor of the Arena. He makes quick work of the rest of his ceremonial clothes, slowly revealing his combat garments underneath all the jeweled layers. “Nowhere does it say that the royal being courted cannot participate in the Championship to win over their own hand.” Yuri watches as Yakov abruptly turns to Yuuri, whispering something into the mage’s ear, but he chuckles. “Don’t bother. I’ve read _every single manual_ we have on the library. The oldest dates back to the era of Reingar The Great. It is _not_ against the rules,” Yuri’s words are cold and confident, each word accentuated to make sure it is clearly heard. Grabbing his bow in hand, he slowly undoes the glamour he’d placed on it days ago, and it turns black and sleek, unadorned—his combat bow.

“I, Yuri of Fae, am joining the Courting Championship to win the hand in marriage of Yuri of Fae,” Yuri states, and it is said with such conviction that the whole arena is hushed for a few moments, breaths held. His eyes turn steely and fiery green, an emerald lit aflame from the inside. He looks over all of the other competitors; all of them lined up in the middle of the Arena, and all of them looking equally terrified. When he talks, his voice leaves no room for discussion, “And I am _winning_.”

The Arena explodes in an uproar of applause and cheering, louder than anything Yuri has ever heard in his life. Grinning, he turns towards the crowd and holds his bow up high, a gesture of triumph and defiance. When he turns back to look at the Royal Balcony, Yakov is sitting down at his designated seat with his face in his hands. Yuuri is at his side, seemingly trying to calm him down, but it doesn’t look like it's working. Seeing this, Chris nudges Viktor’s side and Viktor cheerily turns back to the arena.

“The first trial is archery,” King Viktor says, arms splayed wide. There’s no hiding the little chuckle in his voice when he says, almost sadistically, “May the odds be ever in your favor!”

*

One thing is made clear by the end of the first day of the Courting Championship: Yuri of Fae is a serious contender that will pull no punches. 

The leaderboard is quickly dominated by the Crown Prince, with only one more competitor being able to get just a couple of wins in and landing himself in second place: a young, short man with black hair and an undercut. During the announcement of the final standings at the end of the day’s trials, Yuri finds out his name: Otabek of the Altinim Kingdom. A human Knight.

During the mandated dinner feast, Yuri sits alone at a table, wolfing down on copious amounts of food to recuperate the energy used up in the trials, however small it was. When he looks up from his meal, though, his eyes land directly on the human that’d been the only competition he’d had that day. Otabek of Altinim.

What was a human even _doing_ here? Of course suitors of any race could compete in the Courting Championship, but a human participating was rare by itself, even more so a human that proved to be real competition. The last human to ever win a Courting Championship had been Yuuri—who, alongside Christophe, had won Viktor’s—but he was a _mage_. This Otabek is clearly nothing of the sort, a mere human Knight from an unknown kingdom.

And yet, the mere human Knight from an unknown kingdom had been the only real competition Yuri had had all day.

As Yuri finishes his meal, something unknowingly starts to grow within him—something curious and awe-struck. And, unbeknownst to him, the imaginary distance between the Crown Prince and the human Knight ever-so-slightly shrinks.

*

The next day is unremarkable, except for the last trial. As the winners of all other challenges, Yuri gets to spar with Otabek as the final trial of the day.

Yuri unsheathes his sword, peacock-like in his confidence and ready to win by a landslide, but he quickly finds himself actually putting effort into his sword fighting. Otabek, while shorter and bulkier, is almost as nimble as Yuri and dodges every single blow with an unwavering expressionless face. It somehow pisses Yuri off more than if the human were to be boasting about it, and quickly Yuri finds himself fighting in earnest, getting closer and closer calls on Otabek until, finally, the tip of his dulled sword presses against Otabek’s throat.

Yuri’s breathing is slightly labored as he grins, locking eyes with Otabek. For once, there’s a flicker of something in them that Yuri can’t quite pinpoint, but now he knows there’s _something_ under that unfazed and stoic facade.

And he’s going to find out what it is.

*

During lunch break the next day, Yuri confidently walks over to the tree he always sees Otabek eating under, and sits down next to him without a word.

There’s a static-y, uncomfortable silence for a few seconds, but Yuri starts eating his lunch without so much as a peep, and the static electricity in the air between them eventually subsides. After a beat, Otabek starts eating as well, and the tension dissipates into something of a companionable silence.

When he’s finished, Otabek stands up and mutely bows at Yuri, before taking off in the direction of the training grounds. Yuri watches him go silently, wiping his hands on a cloth, one question nagging him loudly inside his head:

_Who are you, Otabek of Altinim?_

*

After the shared lunch, Otabek and Yuri compete against each other in a trial of spear-fighting.

For the first time, Otabek wins.

*

The words come easier after that. Yuri keeps joining Otabek for lunch and dinner, but he talks now. They don’t exactly make conversation, because Otabek barely speaks and only when spoken to, but Yuri talks enough for the both of them. Otabek listens intently, never reprimanding him for talking too much or too crudely, and Yuri suddenly feels liberated.

The suitors start to dwindle the longer the Championship runs. Every day, at least two suitors are ruled out of the competition or willingly surrender their position. And every day, Yuri gets more and more chances to fight against Otabek.

It’s the only time Yuri ever puts any effort into the trials. Otabek had proved himself a remarkable swordsman, able to expertly wield nearly any weapon and, for once, Yuri had found his own knowledge and experience challenged.

They get to know each other both on and off the arena. Yuri learns to read the language Otabek speaks, which is one of gestures instead of words; he starts to notice small things that speak volumes, like the way Otabek’s head slightly tilts whenever he’s interested in something or the way the corners of his eyes crinkle whenever he’s happy, even if his lips aren’t smiling.

In the end though, they _are_ rivals, so Yuri takes this knowledge into the Arena and tries to use it to his advantage. He hasn’t missed the pink blushes Otabek tries to hide behind his food or the lingering gazes on Yuri’s lips, neck, shoulders. With time, Yuri’s combat clothes start revealing small patches of skin that he knows will get Otabek’s attention, trying to distract him from the fight and make him falter.

“Are you getting hot there, boy?” He teases once, wiggling his eyebrows to indicate the blush high on Otabek’s cheeks and the tips of his ears. Yuri watches the blush deepen with fascination and the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them: “Or is that because of little ‘ol me?”

Otabek clenches his teeth and surges forward, actually putting Yuri into a deadlock for a few seconds. Stunned, Yuri struggles for a second, but a voice in his ear freezes him in place.

“And what if it is?” Otabek’s voice slithers into Yuri’s ear, a soft whisper that somehow manages to coil itself around every single part of Yuri and make him shiver.

It only takes a fraction of a second of Yuri getting distracted for Otabek to subdue him and win the mixed martial arts match.

*

(“Who is the one being courted at this point?” Viktor asks from the balcony as he watches Yuri unashamedly flirt with the young boy on the arena. He isn’t even sure Yuri _knows_ he’s flirting.

Chris shrugs. “I think they both are. They’re both certainly trying very hard.”

Yuuri smiles sheepishly and places a hand over Chris’ in agreement. Of course Yura would be the one to break the rules even further than the three of them had at one point.)

*

“In the Arena stand our last two competitors, the most worthy of opponents: Otabek of Altinim and Yuri of Fae,” Viktor’s voice booms through the Arena. “In this final challenge, they will have to complete a course of 10 kilometers while also collecting the spectral prey that have been placed along the course. No limitations are placed on this trial, so suitors may use any and all resources they deem necessary. Whoever completes the course in the shortest time with the most prey caught will be declared the one and absolute winner.”

Yuri paws at the ground, already shifted into a cheetah for the race, and getting increasingly more excited for it the longer they make him wait. He glances at Otabek, who stands next to him astride a beautiful black horse, in shining metal armor. It’s a beautiful piece of metalwork, intricately adorned with golden frillige all over. He has to force himself to look away from him, thankful for the cheetah form that doesn’t betray the blush he physically feels.

 _Maybe if I hadn’t started all of this, it wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d won my hand_. The thought sneaks into Yuri’s head without his permission and he bats at it frantically. There are no ifs now. He _has_ to win.

Viktor raises his arms and Yuri growls, impatient. “Good luck and may the best suitor win!” Viktor says as he lowers his arms, signaling the opening of the Arena gates and the start of the race.

Even from the very start, it gets hard to define who is in the lead. Yuri is the most dexterous fighter that Fae has seen in a long time, but finally he can see why Otabek is Lead Knight of his entire kingdom. He’s just as graceful and fast in his horse, nimble fingers sending arrows flying through the air and perfectly landing on the spectral prey. With all of that armor on, Yuri would’ve thought his movements would become clumsy and clunky, but Otabek moves sinuously and with intent; there is not a single movement he makes that is not perfectly calculated.

Yuri runs like he’s never allowed to. His paws leave deep indents on the ground as he jumps up, shifts into a falcon and catches the prey in his mouth, quickly shifting back into a cheetah as he lands. He climbs a tree as a leopard, then leaps from it, shifting mid-air into a lion, crossing the finishing line with a roar that seems to shake every tree in a 100 meter radius.

Exhausted but proud, Yuri falls back over his hind legs and faces the finishing line, which Otabek crosses merely seconds after. His breathing is labored, just like Yuri’s, and he dismounts as Yuri trudges over to him, shifting back into his elven form once they’re face to face. Like this, he can’t help but show the big grin on his face, the most pure form of exhilaration he’s ever felt, and he’s ecstatic to find Otabek’s face in nearly the same state.

Yuri extends his hand forwards and Otabek’s face falls, realization suddenly dawning on him. He takes his helmet off and delicately grabs Yuri’s hand—the first physical contact they’ve had outside the championship—and does a deep curtsey, his lips so close to touching Yuri’s skin it gives him goosebumps. He doesn’t, though, and he merely straightens back up.

There’s something in his eyes, Yuri realizes; something deeply disappointed and flaming in anger. There are tears forming at the corners of his eyes and Yuri isn’t sure if they’re from frustration, rage or sadness. With a nervous gulp, he decides to take a leap of faith for the first time in his life. Yuri smiles shyly, the first shy thing anyone’s ever seen on him, and he points at his hand held in Otabek’s with his chin.

“I won it,” he states. Otabek seems to physically recoil at this, but Yuri grips his hand tightly so he can’t retrieve it. “So now it’s mine to give,” Yuri continues, choosing his words carefully and deliberately. He can feel his own hand trembling in Otabek’s, afraid of losing something for once in his life. He steels himself with one last breath and says, “And I’m choosing to give it to you.”

There’s a few long, agonizing beats of silence as Otabek stares dumbfounded at Yuri, during which Yuri begins to doubt himself—maybe Otabek never actually liked him, was only interested in him for political purposes, or he’s too proud to accept a prize he’s already lost. Yuri opens his mouth to take all of it back, pull his hand from Otabek’s like it’s caught fire, but suddenly Otabek’s grip around it turns steel-strong, almost crushing, and Yuri’s heart stops for a second.

“I won’t give it back,” Otabek says, voice low and fierce, and Yuri can see in his eyes that he means it. There’s a smile in them, too; a joy unlike he’s ever seen in Otabek before.

The breath rushes back into him all at once and he smiles, warm and exhilarated. “I wouldn’t allow you to.”

Yuri pulls their joined hands towards him and Otabek stumbles forward, surprised, into Yuri’s grip. He places both hands on Otabek’s head and pulls him in for a kiss right there, in front of all of Fae, because what’s one more rule broken anyway?


End file.
